


But This Afternoon By The Lion's Cage (I'm Afraid I Got Too Near)

by maevewren



Series: Meaningful Magical [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Hale's Manpain, Fluff, M/M, Mpreg, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:48:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22838848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maevewren/pseuds/maevewren
Summary: Just a lovely(ish) morning at the flea market for our happy couple!
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Meaningful Magical [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1542610
Comments: 4
Kudos: 126





	But This Afternoon By The Lion's Cage (I'm Afraid I Got Too Near)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Shel Silverstein poem "It's Dark in Here." Thanks again, Shel!

“Stiles, we already went down this row.” Derek sounds as tired as he looks, and he looks downright haggard.

“No,” Stiles says, “You’re thinking of the row with that lady who sells all the old medical supplies. Speaking of which, are you _sure_ we have no use for an antique speculum?”

Derek stares at Stiles. “I’m not even going to answer that.”

“What’s the point of coming to the flea market if we’re not going to buy the weirdest thing for sale here?”

Derek shakes his head and rubs his temples. “This is exactly why I never want to come to the flea market with you. And I’m still mad about the beheaded store mannequin you insisted we buy that one time - which, I’d like to remind you, is just sitting in the garage.”

“Looking very creepy,” Stiles agrees.

“I don’t even have words for the creepy factor of a vintage speculum, okay? Can you see this from my point of view? And...I need to sit down.” Derek walks to the edge of the market and lowers himself down to the blacktop, sighing heavily.

“I guess,” Stiles shrugs. He follows his husband and plops down next to him. “Not doing so well, huh?”

Derek shakes his head and takes a long swig from the water bottle he’s been toting around. “No. My lower back is killing me. I think the baby’s pinching a nerve or something.”

Stiles squints up at the bright morning sky thoughtfully. “But you’re a werewolf? Shouldn’t that, like, not affect you so much?”

Derek glares at him. “I can heal faster,” he says in his patented _I Married An Idiot_ tone of voice. “But I still feel pain. As much as you do.”

“Eh, I’m not so sure. Pregnancy wasn’t that hard for me. Maybe we’ve found one arena in which I’m stronger than you?”

Derek responds, without any hesitation, by upending his water bottle over Stiles’ head. He then stands up, new rage-fueled energy coursing through him, tosses the empty bottle into the trash, and stalks off down the nearest row of stalls.

“Der, wait!” Stiles shouts as he hops to his feet to chase his husband and shakes the water out of his hair. Derek keeps going, at top speed, and within minutes Stiles has lost him in the crowd.

“Dammit,” he mutters, pulling out his phone to text Derek. He feels a little bad about his comment, but not that bad, given that Derek _always_ gets to be the stronger and bigger and faster one, so maybe he could just let Stiles have this one little thing?

But, he reminds himself, Derek isn’t necessarily used to feeling physically uncomfortable all the time, and he has been pretty much constantly in pain the last few weeks. Maybe Stiles should cut him some slack, especially when he knows Derek would do that for him if their roles were reversed.

 _Where are you_ , Stiles texts. _I’m sorry._

He sees that Derek reads the text almost immediately, but there’s no reply. Stiles continues to pace down the row of vendors, looking left and right for a sexy bearded werewolf in a baggy sweatshirt (meant to hide the not-insignificant baby bulge he’s now boasting).

 _Come on_ , Stiles texts. _Just tell me where to meet you. We can go home and I’ll give you a foot rub._

Again, Derek reads the text right away. This time, the bubbles appear to show that he’s typing a response, but then they disappear and leave no message in their wake. Stiles groans loudly.

“You okay, sweetheart?” an elderly woman sitting behind a card table asks. Her booth is filled with porcelain figurines of animals. She’s drinking a grape soda and filling out a crossword puzzle, no customers in sight.

Stiles smiles politely. He doesn’t want to get into it with this stranger, so he just says, “I’m fine, just a little spat with my husband. He walked off in a huff and I need to catch up to him.”

She cocks her head. “Was it that handsome pregnant werewolf, by any chance?”

Stiles drops the elephant in a clown costume he had absentmindedly picked up and it shatters everywhere. _“What_?” he croaks out.

“Oh,” she chuckles, shaking her head. “I apologize. I’m a witch, I never miss another supernatural. Like that vamp over there.” She points her chin toward a leather goods booth across the way, where a well-groomed blond man is sifting through wallets.

Stiles can’t help but follow her glance. The blond guy looks perfectly normal to him.

The old woman catches his skeptical look and laughs again. “That’s okay, pretty baby, you don’t need to believe me. I wasn’t wrong about your lover, though, was I?”

Stiles doesn’t know how to answer her. Obviously she will believe him if he says yes, but should he concede she got it in one? What if she’s got bad intentions toward Derek and just needs confirmation that he is what she thinks he is?

“No,” he says, thrusting his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “How much do I owe you for the...elephant? Sorry about that.”

She waves a hand at him. “Don’t worry about it, my fault for giving you a shock like that. You’ll find your man two booths down, the one with the wind chimes.”

“Derek hates wind chimes,” Stiles mutters.

She nods sagely. “Any werewolf would.” Then she winks at him.

Stiles insists on giving her a $20 bill, then heads for the wind-chime tent. He does, indeed, find Derek standing in the back, stone-faced and sulking while at least a dozen metal chimes shimmy over his head.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” Stiles asks gently. He takes one of Derek’s hands in his when he gets close enough.

“Didn’t think you’d look for me here.”

Stiles shrugs. “Yeah, but a witch told me you’d be in here.”

Derek’s eyes bug out for a second, but then he looks knowingly toward the animal figurine booth. “Should have known,” he grumbles. “Dumb witches always ruining everything.”

“Hey, hey now - it was a witch that gave us-” Stiles looks around to ensure no one is listening - “our little miracle here.”

“Exactly,” Derek hisses. “And now I’ve become an irrational person hiding amongst the wind chimes from his husband for a reason he cannot even remember, insulting people he doesn’t even know, and acting like an all-around idiotic child.”

Stiles smiles. “It’s kind of fun not being the idiotic child in the relationship for once.”

Derek scowls, but steps out from the display and tugs Stiles out of the booth. “You’re still an idiotic child, you know. I’m just one too, now.”

“Yay!” Stiles crows. “Ooh, want to get a hot dog? And that witch had grape soda, I really want grape soda now.”

Derek looks at Stiles with what a neutral observer might see as disgust, but which Stiles knows is something else entirely. 

“Only if I can get six hot dogs and you don’t say a word,” Derek says.

“I’m not agreeing to that unless _you_ agree not to complain when your stomach hurts afterward because pregnancy gives you heartburn.”

“No,” Derek says vehemently, shaking his head. “I will not agree to that.”

“Okay,” Stiles says cheerfully. “Worth a shot.” He kisses Derek on the cheek and they walk to the hot dog cart, still holding hands.

Derek stops suddenly and sighs deeply.

“What?” Stiles asks, concerned.

“The witch just asked if we could bring her one with extra mustard. She knew I’d be able to hear her.”

Stiles shrugs. “I did break her elephant. You know I’m not supposed to be alone in this place.”

“Of course you did,” Derek says. He purchases ten hot dogs and hands two to Stiles as they walk back to the witch’s booth.

“Wait,” Stiles says as they walk, “if you’re giving her one, doesn’t that mean you’re having seven, not six?”

Derek fixes him with a smoldering glare. “Never mind!” Stiles squeaks.

When they deliver the witch’s hot dog, she smiles triumphantly at Stiles. Then she produces a jar of balm from her giant purse that she assures Derek will ease his back troubles. Derek takes it eagerly, his desire to feel better trumping his usual mistrust of strangers.

“Nice work,” she says to Stiles as she eyes Derek. “I’m sure your daughter will be very beautiful.”

Both men groan; they hadn’t wanted to find out the sex before the birth. She realizes her mistake right away and looks sheepish.

“He’s more than just a pretty face, you know,” Stiles tells her with obvious irritation in his voice. Derek raises an eyebrow and cracks his first smile of the day.

“Oh yeah?” she asks. “Tell me: what is he?”

Stiles doesn’t look away from Derek, who is pushing the fifth hot dog into his mouth.

“He’s the love of my goddamn life.”

The witch has no one to blame but herself when her booth is overtaken for the next 20 minutes by a sobbing, burping werewolf.

  
  



End file.
